the Parting Glass
by onelildustbunni
Summary: Laura Kinney escaped the facility eight years ago and is chasing normality. Julian Keller is losing himself under the pressure of his overbearing father. Kiden Nixon is a paranoid survivalist. What do they have in common, you ask? They all attend UCLA...and they are all trying to survive the end of the world. AU.
1. Prologue

**the Parting Glass**

Of all the money that e'er I had / I spent it in good company / And all the harm I've ever done / Alas it was to none but me  
And all I've done for want of wit / To mem'ry now I can't recall / So fill to me the parting glass / Good night and joy be to you all

So fill to me the parting glass / And drink a health whate'er befalls / And gently rise and softly call / Good night and joy be to you all

Of all the comrades that e'er I had / They're sorry for my going away / And all the sweethearts that e'er I had / They'd wish me one more day to stay / But since it fell unto my lot / That I should rise and you should not / I gently rise and softly call / Good night and joy be to you all

Good night and joy be to you all.

* * *

**Prologue | **_January 18, 2004_

* * *

_Woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, __**beep!  
**__Woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, __**beep! **__  
Woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, woosh-katoosh, __**beep! **_

The world is silent except for the intermittent beeping of the machine that monitors her vital signs, and the flow of the fluid around her skin. It's thick and sticky and warm, and a hue of transparent green that tints the dim fluorescent lighting shining from the floors. All is calm. All is weightless. Her eyelids are slightly open, her eyes rolled up and flickering back-and-forth slightly as she dreams. She has no sense of time or self, only that she _is._

Then they open all the way, as she hears something beyond the sounds of her mechanical womb. Footsteps, moving closer with every passing moment. She turns her head slightly—as far as the tubes and wires for the mask covering her nose and mouth will allow her to—and watches as a hand is pressed against the glass. She squints. The light seems very bright now, now that she's using her eyes.

The fingers are slim and pale and much like her own fingers, which are curled against her bare chest. She hears a faint murmuring, words being spoken to her. She relaxes; she knows this voice. It is Mother's voice. She will not hurt her, will not tear her from her home like the others do. And when she washes the fluid off her skin, Mother always uses warm water. Not cold.

Mother's hand pulls away, and she waits. A few moments later comes the usual _hisss_ sound, and the apparatus above begins to rise, and the fluid begins to drain into vents at the bottom of the tube. She finds herself lowering into a standing position, and her long dark hair—which has been floating in a cloud around her—plasters around her shoulders and back. After about a minute, the glass walls around her recede into the floor with a soft mechanical _whiirrrr. _She reaches up and pushes the large metal breathing mask off her face and takes a gasp of air. Not the purified, vitamin-filled air of the machine, but real air—the intoxicating blend of air she's come to savor. It always makes her cough when she takes her first breath, when she comes to life. Today is no different.

"_Kuf, kuf," _she says, and then she begins to shiver slightly. Mother reaches around her shoulders, and something soft touches her skin. She fingers the edges of the material and searches for the word for it. _Towel. _To dry with. The shivers fade, and she peers at the woman before her, no longer squinting. She adapts very quickly.

"The time has come for you to leave this place," Mother says, taking a hold of her shoulders and giving her a very intent look. She is not wearing her usual white coat, and there is a messenger back strap hooked around her shoulders. "Are you ready?"

Her eyes widen, and she nods, very quickly. Mother has discussed this with her before, during the rare moments when they have been alone. She hadn't understood, at first; even now, she's not sure. The woman had had to use little words to make any sense of the notion to her. But she has a feeling, an idea that perhaps there is something beyond the tile and metal walls. Something wonderful and intoxicating, like the air outside the machine. She is drawn to it like the occasional moths she sees beating around the fluorescent lights.

"Good," Mother says to her now, smoothing the towel against her shoulders. "I have clothes for you. Follow."

Obediently she walks behind the woman, being careful to copy her footsteps exactly like she always does. She is very careful to pay attention to what she is shown, but especially to what Mother shows her. She wants to be just like her. Perhaps she can learn. They reach a small plain room with some things she has never seen before. Her eyes widen, and she moves to one of them—a shining white contraption with a metallic centerpiece, and two metal handles. She brushes her fingers across the surface, her lips parting slightly. Mother shuts and locks the door behind them.

"What is this?" she asks of the contraption, her voice soft and small. The only time she uses it is when she is with Mother.

"_Sink,_" she replies. Just the name, as always. She has progressed in her language skills to the point that additional words don't confuse her, but it has become a habit for Mother to teach her in this way, and she doesn't mind. Her fingers touch the cool metal. "What is it for?" she asks.

"Water," Mother says. She reaches past the girl and twists one of the handles. Water gushes from the centerpiece, and she jumps slightly.

"We need to hurry. Dress." Mother points to a stack of clothing sitting on what looks like a strange white chair. She moves over to it and does as commanded, pulling the garments on: jeans and a blue t-shirt, and a jacket, and socks with running shoes. She has worn clothes before, during training for Assignments. She will do her first Assignment in a short while.

After she is dressed, Mother opens the door again and peers into the hallway. She is holding a small firearm which she retrieved from the back of her pants. "Come," she says. "Hurry. Tell me if you hear someone nearby."

She hastens after the woman. They break into a run, down a long white corridor. The breath burns in her lungs, wildly intoxicating, urging her on with the promise of the unknown. Around a corner they run, Mother catching her wrist and pulling her along. Their hearts pound in her ears, and the lights _buzz_ slightly. Another heartbeat joins the fray, and she pulls on Mother's hand and points down the hall, at a door that is opening. They stop, Mother points her weapon at the man emerging and fires at his head, without hesitation.

His thinning scalp explodes into a red mist. His eyes roll up in his head and he takes a few erratic steps, then falls to his knees and then the ground, face-down. She can see a big hole in his scalp, filled with pooling blood and white particles. It smells both alarming and intoxicating, just like it always does. The base scent is metallic, but there is always something more to the scent—something unique to the individual. She wants to look closer, but Mother pulls her back and shakes her head. "I will explain later," she whispers. "Keep running."

They resume their journey down the hall, stepping over the man's body. She can still feel his heat through the thin fabric of her shoes, and the dying electrical currents in his body. She understands he is dead, that he is no longer experiencing consciousness, and she wonders what it is like to be him right now. Is it like floating in her tube? What is he thinking, what is he seeing?

"Almost there," Mother whispers. "We might make it."

_Make what? _She wonders. They traverse another corridor and pass through several doors, at which Mother pauses to swipe a piece of plastic through a security keypad. The doors make heavy noises: beeping, grating metal, squeaking, clicking. They finally reach one that looks bigger and heavier than the others, and what's more, there is a window through which she can see a bright white light.

Mother swipes her keycard again and pushes the door open.

The light is so bright that for a moment she is blinded. She raises her arm to shield her face, gritting her teeth, and then the pain fades and she can see again. She peers out, and her mouth falls open. The world is white and cold and dark figures twist up from the ground and splay across a grey-colored, lumpy-looking ceiling, except she instinctively _knows_ it is a ceiling she can't reach. Not a manmade ceiling. Her heart pounds in her ears, and the cold air burns in her lungs. Her throat makes soft yet high-pitched noises with each breath, and her mouth feels tight. The corners are lifting up.

"Come," Mother says. She pulls on her wrist again and they run down a flight of concrete stairs to the ground: asphalt, covered in the cold white substance. They hurry across a large expanse like this, toward a shiny red thing that she has never seen before. It slightly resembles the training vehicles, though.

Mother digs in her pocket and pulls out a set of keys, her hands trembling. "We are going to your aunt's, in San Francisco," she says, as she presses a button on the key fob. Pegs slide up in the doors of the vehicle. "Get in on the other side," she instructs. She does so, pulling the door shut beside her as she sinks into the softest seat she has ever felt.

Mother sits down too and inserts the keys into the ignition, then turns the engine, her foot pressing down on the gas pedal. The vehicle roars in response, and she hauls the steering wheel over as far as she can. They lurch forward, down the asphalt pathway, the dark shapes stretching up to the grey ceiling on either side. She presses her nose to the window, gazing out at the passing scenery in wonder.

"I know you have many questions, but they will have to wait for now," the woman says, her voice tense, her eyes on the ground ahead. "The drive will take nearly a day. About nineteen hours. There is a map on the floor in front of you, and you know how to operate this vehicle. It is like the simulations."

"Okay," she says.

"If anything happens to me, you will follow the path highlighted on the map," Mother continues. "Don't stop, for anything. Follow the signs along the road…obey the speed limits…and in the bag are tools for you: money, identification…you will find your aunt and tell her I said…" she pauses, her eyebrows drawing together. "Tell her I said you are my daughter and you need her protection. That you will be pursued by very bad people."

"Okay." She looks at Mother. "You mean…"

"Yes." Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "He is still alive."

She says nothing in response. What can she say?

"If anyone asks you your name…" Mother looks over. "You are now Laura, okay?"

"Okay," she says, confused. "But I have a name."

"No. Not anymore…never again. You are Laura now and all that is behind you. Forget X-23."

She feels confused. Mother hesitates. "It's like Pinocchio. You are becoming real, just like he did. You were a puppet…and now you will be a girl, a real girl."

This makes some sense to her. Her mouth parts slightly. She still has many questions, but Mother has told her there is no time now. _Later, _she promises herself. _Later I will ask. _

But there is no later.

It happens very suddenly, about an hour after this. Mother slows the car and turns toward a brightly-colored building baring the name _Esso. _There are concrete platforms, with strange devices lines along them: tubes with guns at the ends of them. Mother pulls up the vehicle beside one of these devices and stops it, mumbling: "I can't believe it. I can't believe I forgot gas. Wait here." She gets out and runs around the vehicle. She hears scuffling sounds, and looks over her seat.

Mother is standing against the side of the vehicle, working on something with a bent head. There is a mechanical hum, and liquid sounds. The smell of high-octane gasoline. A figure enters her field of vision from the side, and she looks out the back window. Her eyes widen. _Him. _

He's smiling, widely, and looking at Mother. "Going somewhere?" He asks loudly, his voice barely muffled even though he is outside the vehicle.

Mother looks up at him, her face pale, her green eyes widening in absolute horror. She opens her mouth, but whatever she is going to say never comes, because He raises his hand—in which is a firearm—and he squeezes the trigger.

_**BANG!**_

"_**NO!" **_she shouts, from inside the vehicle, but it's too late. Mother jerks backward—like the man from earlier—the air around her head turning red, like a halo. Her eyes roll back, and she falls against the devices. She struggles with the door, her fingers unable to grasp the handle for some reason. Spilling out of the vehicle, she falls to her knees on the concrete. To her right—under the car—she can see the lower part of Mother's body, and the red liquid pooling around her shoes. The air reeks of her blood.

Ahead of her, the man is sliding his weapon back into its holster. He looks at her. He is pleased.

"Well, clone, you just sit tight. Kimura's on her way right now," He says. "Let's get you home, you little freak…and we'll pretend this never happened." He pauses. "_After _we punish you, of course."

She looks back at Mother, her arms shaking against the cement. She can smell the death, she can hear the tiny fizzling sound of the electricity leaving her body as all signs of life evaporate. She can hear the absence of her heartbeat.

"No," she says.

He shakes his head. "Clone…"

"No." She sits up.

He moves to her, reaches down and grabs a handful of her long hair and yanks upward, pulling her to her feet. She grits her teeth against the pain, kicks her legs wildly. He leans closer and examines her face. "You don't say _no,_" he says. "The fuck ideas did she put in your pea-sized brain?" He reaches into his holster again for his weapon. "Shot through the frontal lobe should give you a nice reset."

She swings her foot into his crotch, as hard as she can manage, like she was taught. He instinctively lets go as He curls around the area protectively. She brings her knee into His nose repeatedly, her heart pounding. If Kimura gets here…she'll miss her chance, she'll go back and this will be over. She hears voices—someone is running out of the Esso building, yelling, but she takes no heed, grabbing him by his brown hair and yanking his head backward. Her throat burns. She may not know much, but she understands what it is to hate, and she hates Him with absolute clarity.

"Fucking _animal!" _he burbles, through a mouth full of blood and broken teeth. Her blows are powerful. She wants to spend hours beating him, days, she wants to strip his skin off piece by piece and drown him in sweet-smelling fluid and dissect him with small bright lights, as he has done to her. But Mother had told her to stop for nothing.

_Quickly, quickly. The head or the heart. _She chooses the head, makes a fist—there is wet pain and a sound—and then she rams the metal-covered blades through his brain and out the back, several times. _Shluckt, shluckt, shluckt. _She lets go of his hair and he falls flat on his back with a _thump! _Hot liquid runs down her face. She assumes it is blood, but it tastes salty. Someone is screaming in the background. She doesn't have time. Running around the vehicle, she steps over Mother's body, then pauses and kneels and runs her fingers across her eyes. "Thank you," she whispers.

She knows to say this because of her. Her eyes burn, and she realizes the hot liquid is coming from them. This has never happened before, but she can't stop to analyze it now. There are sirens. She gets up and heads to the driver's door and opens it and gets in. The vehicle roars to life a few moments later, and she steps on the gas as far as the pedal will go.

**…**

She follows the road, and like Mother said, she stops for nothing. When the road she is on ends, she reads the map in glances. I-15 turns into US 20W, then I-W 86, then US93S, then I-80. Then US 101 N.

She sees things she can't fathom. Dense clusters of tall buildings with shining black surfaces. Enormous dark-and-white jagged shapes against a brilliant blue ceiling. Sprawling green flat areas. Dull yell flat areas. Red rocks, black rocks, yellow rocks, grey rocks. Water, lots of water. She discovers a button that lets her open the windows of the vehicle, and she drives the long stretches with her head peering out, the vehicle's motion causing the air to move very fast around her and making her hair stream behind her like a cloud. There are so many smells. She sees strange creatures along the side of the road, both alive and dead. She knows what animals are, from training. She'd had a small dog for a time, during the anti-empathy segment.

She follows the map through the sunset and the night and the sunrise, which takes her breath away with its unearthly beauty. This is a new concept for her: beauty.

The air starts to get warmer, and the sun in the blue ceiling begins to burn hotter. She reaches the last highway on the map and enters the biggest of the building clusters yet. She encounters a lot of other vehicles, and has to slow down below the speed limit on the signs. She feels nervous, but she continues to follow the map.

It leads her to a door, a red door in a very strange building, the likes of which she has never seen. There are many buildings like it around them, and green flat surfaces (_grass, _she realizes now, and the blue ceiling is the _sky _and the big shining thing is the _sun, _she is starting to connect them to the things Mother had told her about). She is puzzled about what to do with the door so she stands there for a while, the bag slung around her shoulders.

Suddenly it opens and a woman emerges, bending down to pick up a rolled packet of paper from the ground. She catches her breath—this woman, she looks like Mother. She could _be_ Mother, if her hair was longer. And if she wasn't pregnant. She can hear the second heartbeat, very soft, like the fluttering of a moth's wings. She tilts her head to better hear it, and the corners of her lips turn upward slightly.

The woman doesn't notice her at first, until her gasp, and then she looks up and drops her paper in shock.

"S-sarah?" she asks.

"No." The girl pauses, and for a moment she is lost. Her lips straighten as her smile fades. Then she remembers her instructions. "Mother said...I am her daughter and I need protection." She raises her chin, determined not to fail the woman's last request of her. She will deliver the message in full. "I will be pursued by very bad people."

And then she falls silent. Those are the last words she speaks for a very long time, because she only speaks to Mother and Mother is now dead.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
**

* * *

_**May 14, 2012**_

"Yeah, but dad—" Julian raises his hand, even though his father can't see the gesture. Or his expression, which is full of the annoyance he's trying not to let seep into his voice. His voice is all that matters right now since he's on the phone.

He pauses again, because he's been put on hold. For the third time this call. And the same elevator music is still playing. Classical music—a cheap rendition of Mozart or something. He grits his teeth and glares up at the sky, tries not to get mad and lose his cool. If he raises his voice, his dad will just hang up. Like he always does. And then nothing will be accomplished. He'll be stuck in this mess for the rest of his life. Something nags at him, and he closes his eyes and swallows. _Not like it wasn't your fault. _

Oh, it was definitely his fault. It's not like anyone forced him to go to that party, or to leave it with two drunk blonds and a couple adult beverages purchased with his fake ID. And it wasn't anyone else who had decided bragging about his bimmer would be a great idea. Kind of stupid of him, really, since he's already found out that his father's name just doesn't have the same impact out here with these small-time campus cops. _The less power a person has, the more eager they are to use it,_ he thinks bitterly.

_Click! _As his father picks up the call again. _"Sorry, Japan again. Now—I _warned _you, Julian. You're becoming a nightmare for me to manage, and especially your mother. And yourself."_

"Dad—" Julian opens his eyes. "Let me—"

"_No, _you _let _me. _We can't afford this kind of publicity. I'm running for congress next year, and _you—"

"I fucking hate politics!" he bursts. "Please, for the love of god, let me—"

His father sighs. Julian can see it in his head; his father is rubbing his temples, like he's the world's biggest disappointment. "_Here's what's going to happen,_" he says, in very precise, clipped words. There will be no further argument. _"I will make a few phonecalls. You will keep this quiet. You will _not _act out again. You _will _graduate in two years, as planned, with your degree."  
_  
"I _do_ plan to graduate!" Julian says desperately. "That's not a question! But not in polisci. This is _killing _me. I don't do well in this—"

"_I won't pay for anything else," _his father says calmly.

"Well, I can—" Julian swallows. "There's loans—"

"_Good luck with that." _

He grits his teeth. He knows that's not an option. The co-signer thing…neither of his parents would ever agree to 'signing away his future', as his mother so eloquently put it.

"_This is the last I will hear of this, do you understand? You're playing with fire. I'm a very busy man and I don't have time for your childish behavior. Do you understand me?" _

Julian takes a deep breath. "Yeah, okay," he says quietly.

A pause. _"Good. Now get back to work and don't bother me again."_

_Click. _

He looks at his phone and sees the familiar _Call Ended _message flashing. It says _Duration_ _03:02_, meaning minutes…a new record, considering often his parents just don't bother picking up. And that means they've instructed the servants to ignore his number as well.

Julian bashes his phone into the brick wall that he's sitting on, seething. It hadn't _always _been this way; just the last eight years or so. Since the evening of his twelfth birthday. He'd gone from being a well-loved younger child, doted upon by his hardworking parents…to the son of two incredibly wealthy business moguls…literally overnight. They don't have time to wipe their own asses now, let alone remember that he exists. They hire other people to do all that.

The part that really especially stings is that it had been so easy for them to stop loving him. _Overnight_. Which means that all of that before—twelve years of his life—had all been fake. He can't even rely on his happier memories. All he can do is dissect them over and over, racking his brain to try and remember what he did wrong.

Shaking his head, he shoves his phone back into the breast pocket of his Armani sports jacket and pushes himself off the wall he's been sitting on, then storms across the brick courtyard, practically trailing a cloud of smoke. He's pissed. So pissed that he doesn't even notice that the cheerleading practice has let out in the field near the wall. And he's been waiting for that because—

_**THUD!**_

"Watch where you're going!" he snaps automatically, then sees who it is. One of the cheerleaders—the really hot one, the one who his girlfriend hates, the one that he can't get out of his head, the one he really waits for every Wednesday afternoon—still in her all-white top and skirt, a duffle bag looped over one bare shoulder. She glares at him with a set of the prettiest green eyes he's ever seen. Fringed with long, thick, girlish eyelashes.

"No, _you_ watch where you're going," she says, her upper lip curling. Her voice is low and smooth, very feminine.

He sneers in return. "I wasn't the one ogling the quarterback," he says, his tone full of meaning. He's seen her sneaking glances at the guy, and also knows that she hasn't said anything. That could change, quickly. "You know you can stop cheering for him once you leave the field, right?" He leans forward slightly. The glint of fear in her eyes and the sound of an apology might improve his mood. A little bit of surrender from the ice princess.

"Yes," she says, her tone flat. There is no glint of fear. No apology. "You _do _know that drinking and driving is illegal, right?"

Julian stares at her. There's no way the info has gone public yet, not since it happened just last night and he'd already gotten the family lawyer on the case…and the girls he was with are still in the drunk tank. No, for her to know this…she had to have overheard his conversation just now. "You're _spying _on me?!" he blurts, full of panic and fury.

She tilts her head. "Why would I waste my time on that?" she asks. Her expression is one of mild curiosity and vague repulsion. For an instant, he realizes what she sees him as: some kind of strange insect that she's never seen before.

"You keep your yap shut," he hisses at her. "Not one word, Kinney. If this leaks…I'll know it was you."

She arches her eyebrows. "I'll assume that Celeste doesn't know then?"

He shifts. Now he's nervous. Celeste is his pseudo-girlfriend. And Celeste can't keep a secret. Never in his worst nightmares would be consider telling her, not even if his life depended on it. Because his life _does_ depend on keeping this quiet. If his moment of stupidity besmirched his father's campaign even in the slightest…

He remembers the note he'd seen on his father's desk that one day, and he shudders. The note from one of his business contacts. Just three words: _taken care of. _And a bloody thumb print.

"Don't you _dare,_" he warns.

The corners of her lips turn up slightly. "I'm glad we could come to a mutual agreement."

He grits his teeth, for an instant hating her. But that's also why he can't stop thinking about her, isn't it? The challenge she presents, the thrills that only she can cause. No one else has _ever_ managed to dig up dirt on him, not when his father pays about three million dollars a year to keep family secrets. He relaxes and nods slightly. "You going to be on the squad next term?" he asks.

She thinks for a moment. "I don't know. It's getting…boring."

"Boring?" He gazes at her, hypnotized. She's really pretty, with her long dark hair and flawlessly pale skin. He's never seen her tan, not one little bit. "What are you doing for Spring break?" he asks softly.

"Going home." She tilts her head again, adjusts her duffle bag strap. "And yourself?"

He blinks. He realizes he hasn't even thought about it yet. "I dunno. Go somewhere, I guess…Florida or Mexico, maybe." A moment passes, and then he blurts out: "We could do something together."

She stares at him for a moment, and then she snorts—in a muffled way, like she's trying not to laugh but really wants to. "I don't think so," she says.

Julian swallows, feeling his cheeks burn. Why the hell had he said something stupid like that? He'd butchered it. She looks to the side, and he follows her gaze and sees the quarterback she likes crossing the courtyard behind them. He feels even more embarrassed. "I was just—it was a joke," he says, trying to cover his tracks.

She looks at him again, her eyebrows arching. "Really?" she asks.

"Yeah." He pauses, looks away, and sees Celeste walking with the rest of the cheerleaders. He's about to head toward her, but then he stops and looks at Kinney again. "Why do you always walk alone?" he asks, struck by this thought.

She smiles at him slightly. "Would _you_ walk with them?"

Julian feels it again, that strange hypnotic feeling that caused him to act like an idiot. She gives him a little wave and turns away, heads up the brick path toward main campus. He stands with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides until Celeste grabs one and begins to chatter loudly in his ear in her bright, chirpy voice.

**…**

He makes up a white lie to get out of dinner with Celeste, then heads for the school's dining hall. He pays in cash because he doesn't have a meal plan; why would he, when he can afford to eat at gourmet restaurants every night if he wants—and usually does? Tonight, however, he really doesn't feel like walking to town, since his driver's license no longer in his pocket. Besides, he knows Kinney eats in the hall. Their earlier encounter has stuck in his head all day and he's convinced himself that she felt something too. Her snort could have been one of surprise…or amusement, that they're both thinking the same thing. Anything but blunt rejection. That insect thing he thought of earlier…that's all in his head. It's got to be.

He has to talk to her, get her to admit it. Tell her how he feels. _Yeah. _He carries his slices of pizza and can of pop into the hall, looks around—and finally spots her, sitting off at the end of the hall, alone. _Today's it. It's got to be now. Can't leave things like that. _

She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Hi," he says, once he has reached the end of the table. He looks down at her, sees that she's eating a burger and fries. And that she's changed out of her high-necked uniform into a pink tank top that he can see down. _Don't look, _he warns himself, since she's staring right at him…but he can't help sneaking a peak.

"I'd prefer to eat alone," she says. In a blunt way, as if he's done something very stupid.

Julian sets down his tray. "I'd prefer a lot of things."

She continues to watch him as he sits down. He looks at his pizza for a moment, trying to think how to transition from small talk into…into what? Him blurting that he's crazy about her? That's too much. He needs to be diplomatic…_make her think it's her idea, _he tells himself, even as he sees her eyes flicker to the latest person to enter the room: her quarterback.

"So…what are you majoring in?" he asks. He knows already, of course, that Laura Kinney is extremely intelligent and is majoring in Biology, because Celeste told him all that when she was describing what a bitch this girl is. But even he knows that mentioning his current girlfriend to his intended one won't win him any favors.

"Biology," Laura says absently, her eyes still on the quarterback. "Genetics, specifically."

"Wow," he says, hoping he sounds surprised. "You must be really smart. I suck at science."

She doesn't look at him. "It's a matter of dedication."

He looks at the quarterback too, unable to help himself—and scowls. What does she see in him? Yeah, he's good looking: chiseled jaw, big muscles, killer tan…all that volunteer work…and so maybe he does major in physics. So what?

The quarterback looks their way very suddenly, and Julian's eyes widen in horror, because he's just been caught in the act of checking him out. Laura kicks his shin under the table and he tears his gaze away, feeling really especially stupid. "Dammit!" he hisses. His shin throbs.

"Why were you looking at him?" she demands in a whisper.

"Because _you_ were!" he snaps back.

"That's not a good reason." She eyes him. "You've been acting weird lately."

Julian reaches down and rubs his shin. "What do you mean?"

"To begin with…this." She nods to his plate. "Didn't you insult me about my eating cafeteria food just last—"

"They hired new cooks." He shrugs and takes a bite, trying to act casual. It tastes like cardboard, and he makes a face despite himself. She gives him a knowing look.

"No, you're just trying to be near me," she says.

He swallows the lump of cardboard and puts the slice down. "That obvious, huh?"

Laura sighs, looks down, like he has asked her a difficult question. "Yes. You are very…obvious," she says in a serious tone. Too serious for him to write off. He straightens in his seat.

"Look…I know I haven't always been…" he trails off as she looks up at him expectantly. "Okay, I've been a douchenozzle to you a few times."

"More than a few times," she says coldly.

He smiles slightly. "You enjoyed it, though. Admit it."

Laura frowns. "Why would I enjoy being harassed?"

Julian's smile fades. "I didn't—it wasn't—you and I…we've always…it's mutual, you know? Like a game of…of something. I respect you."

"That comes as a surprise," she says. "Seeing as you've called me a whore several times now."

"That was—" he feels angry at himself. "I didn't _mean_ it. You called me names too."

"No, I did not," Laura says.

"Yeah…" he straightens in his chair. "You've called me lots of stuff. Arrogant…idiotic…you said I was a slimebag, once."

"None of those are names," she says. "They are descriptors."

"Laura—" he hesitates, then reaches under the table and grabs her hand. It feels warm, and her skin feels soft as silk. "I'm sorry. You're really pretty…and I…well, I can't stop thinking about you no matter how hard I try."

She frowns. "What about Celeste?"

He shrugs. "She's not you."

Laura gazes at him, then shakes her head slowly. "I don't feel the same, Julian. I'm sorry."

He pauses. He'd sensed that it was coming, and yet he hadn't expected to feel such acute pain. "Why?" he asks, then nods to the other end of the table, to where the quarterback is now laughing with his friends. "Is it Mr. Football over there?"

Laura hesitates.

Julian leans forward. "So if he wasn't here…"

"Still no," she says. "I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on earth."

He blanches. "What?" he asks. This is completely out of left field. He'd expected rejection…but only partial rejection, based on her crush for the other guy. It's completely impossible that she doesn't feel _anything _for him, not even attraction. _No. _He swallows.

"W-why?" he finally manages.

Laura purses her lips, looks him in the eye. "You are selfish," she says. "You are unkind. Rude. Arrogant. Careless. Clumsy and disorganized. Physically inferior to the man I have chosen. And I dislike your appearance." She pauses. "Specifically your hair. I do not like males with longer hair."

"I…" Julian takes a few breaths, possibly in shock. "Are you _serious? _You…" he leans back in his chair, unsure of what's just happened. No one has ever given him such a brutal list of his flaws.

"There is more, but I believe that will suffice." She looks up at the end of the table, at the quarterback, and her eyes soften. "Please go away now."

He sits in place for a few moments. "Celeste is right about you," he says finally, his teeth gritted. "You're a _bitch. _A rotten, ugly _bitch_. You hear that?"

"I thought you said I was pretty," she says absently. Her eyes still on the quarterback.

"Psychotic to boot." He shoves his chair away from the table and stands up. He knows what he's going to do. He marches down toward the end of the table—he can hear Laura getting to her feet, probably in an attempt to stop him—but he's way ahead of her. "Hey, Jeffries!" he calls.

The quarterback looks up. "Keller?" he asks, clueless. They've spoken once or twice, at a party that Celeste dragged them both to.

"I'd watch out for that girl over there," he says, pointing at Laura, who is running toward them now. "Kind of crazy. Her name is Laura Kinney…did you know she did time in juvie? Stabbed her last boyfriend."

Jeffries looks up. "No shit," he says, having no reason not to believe him. The look of absolute horror on the girl's face only serves to back him up.

"Yeah," Julian says, fighting a smirk. "She just told me you're next. And you know something? After what Celeste told me…about her room being _plastered _with pictures of you…I think I'd watch my back around her."

He reaches out and pats the horrified Jeffries on the shoulder. "Good luck, man. Glad I'm not you."

He laughs all the way to his one-bedroom house. It's only when he gets into his silk-sheeted bed that the tears come, and no amount of banging his head against the headboard will keep them in.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Walking Dead in almost less than 10 days! WOOT! PS- check out the Sinead O' Connor 'Parting Glass' cover on Youtube.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 2  
**

* * *

Laura looks at the _Welcome to San Francisco! _sign as she drives past it, and her eyes feel unexpectedly damp.

She's had a rough term. There had been problems with her finances, her roommate, her job, and one of her professors seems to hold a grudge against her, for reasons she still does not understand. And just a few days ago, her daydreams of Matt Jeffries had been destroyed by a loathsome creature she does not think of by name. The only other person she has ever hated with such passion is Him. Yes, He is far more evil…but they are of the same species.

_Never mind. I am going home. _She blinks the brief tears from her eyes and fixes a smile on her face. In just twenty minutes, she will be seeing her Aunt Debbie, and her cousins, Megan and Kira. Her family. She marvels—just as she always does—that she can call them this, that she has come so far. She who was alone. She who was nothing…is now something.

As she pulls into the drive, she thinks of that day eight years ago. Debbie had been retrieving a newspaper when she'd found her standing on the welcome mat, not knowing what to do next. After conveying her message about the bad people that would pursue her, Laura had sealed up. For an entire year, not one word had passed her lips, no matter how hard Debbie tried.

And then Kira had begun to speak. Baby Kira, who Laura adored beyond any other being in the universe because she too had Sarah's green eyes and dark hair. _Mother. _With her, Laura had learned to talk, had learned to fit in…and she'd very quickly done so. Megan had become her best friend, and Debbie her mentor, and as a family they had managed to put Laura through high school and the first year of college at UCLA without incident.

_Without incident. _Mother had been wrong. No one had come seeking Laura…no one, bad or good. She'd seemingly been spared. At first this had alarmed her, and she had lived in fear. But no one can remain in that state forever, and so eventually Laura had relaxed, convincing herself that the facility didn't need her anymore…or better yet that it no longer existed. After all, she _had_ killed _Him. _And wasn't He the Facility?

She turns off the engine, unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the door of her Nissan, only to be engulfed by a flying mass of eight-year-old child. "_Laura!" _the girl says, into her midriff.

"Kira!" she says, smiling and hugging her back.

**…**

"Did you have a safe drive, honey?" Debbie asks, at dinner.

Laura nods. "Yes. A vehicle nearly rear ended me on an off ramp, but I was able to avoid a collision."

"Oh dear! Well, I'm glad you're alright," her aunt says.

"Right, mom," Megan says, rolling her eyes. "Worry about the girl who's _invincible. _Honestly." She looks at Laura. "She's just worried you'll jack her premium."

"_Megan!" _Debbie snaps.

Her cousin grins, and so does Laura. She likes Megan's fearlessness. She'll say what everyone's thinking, even if it's a painful truth…a trait she admires and tries to replicate.

"An accident'd still be scary," Kira says, frowning. "I'm glad you wasn't in one, Laura."

"Weren't," Debbie corrects.

"War not," Megan suggests.

Her mother glares at her. "I've had _enough_ of your attitude tonight."

"I was just making a joke! _Jeez._" Megan looks at Laura. "She's mad coz I got a D in Economics today. Imagine…I'm at a tech school now and I _still _have to show mom my report card."

"Note that you said _tech school _and not _university,_" Debbie says stiffly. "If you had even an _eighth _of Laura's discipline…"

"I'm gonna go to university too," Kira says. "Laura will be my teacher."

"Possibly." Debbie smiles at Laura. "How's your pasta? Is it warm enough? I tried to keep it in the oven for an extra ten minutes."

"It's wonderful," Laura says, smiling. "Much better than the cafeteria food." Her smile wavers as she remembers being ridiculed for her 'cheap lifestyle'. _As cheap as you are, _Keller had said to her, one night at a party that she'd attended with the rest of the cheerleading squad. He'd reeked of alcohol. She shakes her head slightly.

"Something wrong?" Megan asks.

"Not at all," she says.

**…**

Spring break passes far too quickly. She's soon packing her things again, and hugging her family goodbye for another term. "Summer'll be here before you know it," Megan promises. "Now, you remember what I said, right?"

Laura nods. Her cousin had fished all her problems out of her—one at a time—and told her how to fix them. What to do about her roommate problems. How to mend bridges at work. Things to say to her professor. And—best of all—how to prove to Matt Jeffries that Keller was lying.

She keeps her windows down as she drives, and her elbow rests on the outside of her door. She takes long, deep breaths of the intoxicating air, so full of life and freedom. If only she knew how full of life it was…the lives of others, the lives that will be taken. But Laura doesn't like to listen to the radio as she drives, because she sees it as unnecessary noise. She already deals with enough noise as is, given how incredibly sharp her hearing is.

When she gets back to her dorm five hours later, however, she finds her roommate watching a news report on her tablet PC.

**...**

"What's that?" Laura asks, as she sets her bag down on the edge of the bed and begins to remove her light jacket. Keeping the windows open makes her car fairly cool, even in the heat of summer…and since her childhood she has never liked the cold.

Her roommate—who is slouching in her computer chair—looks up briefly from the tablet, her pierced nose wrinkling, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing. "Just the end of the world," she says scornfully. "But not like _you'd_ care. As long as we're still alive for the championship game, right?"

Laura doesn't comment, but does move closer. She peers over the other girl's shoulder and looks at the images flashing by on the screen. "Can you share the sound, Kiden?" she asks. She can hear it through her headphones, but it wouldn't do to let the other girl know of her abilities.

Kiden rolls her eyes and unplugs the headphones, pushes them down to hang around her neck.

"—_epidemic started this morning at one thirty AM in Denver, Colorado, officials from the CDC have stated, but the origins are uncertain. It is also unknown whether this is a natural virus or a biological attack. Approximately two hundred thousand Denver citizens have been affected as of now, and there are reports of outbreaks in Fort Collins, Colorado Springs and Grand Junction. The death toll is estimated to be about 95% of the infected, within six hours of contagion. The CDC is working around the clock to find an inoculation. In the meantime, citizens are requested to remain calm and seek medical services if you or anyone you know experiences any of the following symptoms…"_

A list of symptoms appears on the screen, in stark white lettering. Nausea, vomiting, headaches, chills, fever, coughing, seizures, irrational behavior, hallucinations, unusual strength, unusual weakness, unexplained bleeding.

"Jesus," Kiden says. "What the hell is this? Sounds like the start of a zombie plague."

Laura remains silent, but her eyebrows draw together. She thinks of the family she has left behind in San Francisco and immediately wonders if she's made a mistake. She looks at the scenes flashing by on the tablet's screen again: hospital wards, filled with people with blood streaming down the lower halves of their faces as they cough. People lying on the streets as workers in white body suits with helmets run around trying to pick them up. A clip from a shaking camera of a group of young children sitting on a worn-looking carpet, looking up at the film taker with eyes full of fear.

"This is in Denver, correct?" Laura asks, her forehead now wrinkled with concern.

"Yep," Kiden says. "And I bet it'll be here in a couple of hours. Wouldn't trust the government to contain a fruit fly, let alone a zombie plague." She tosses her tablet onto the bed and folds her arms. "So, what d'_you _think we should do? Lead a cheer for school spirit?"

"No," Laura says. Practically everything Kiden has ever said to her is either an insult about cheerleading or a conspiracy theory about the government. She has never bothered to inform her roommate about how close to the truth she is on both counts. But now…she turns her head and glances at the map of the United States pinned to the wall above her bed. Colorado is only three states away. _Nineteen hours, _Mother's voice whispers in her ear, and she feels her chest constrict.

"No," she says again, her voice firmer. "We should prepare." She straightens and moves to her bed, kneels beside it and begins to reach underneath.

"What—_seriously?_" Kiden sits up in her chair, alert.

"Yes." Laura pulls out a small case and places it on her bed. "I have enough supplies here to last a single person for three days. It is not enough for the both of us. We will need to find more now, while it is still safe." She turns back to Kiden. "Do you have an empty bag?"

"Yeah, of course." Her roommate pauses, eyes her suspiciously. "You're not just jerking my chain, right?"

"No, I am serious." Laura grabs the duffle bag she uses for her cheerleading gear and upends it on her bed. "Find canned food…first-aid supplies…antibiotics if you can…bottled water…fill your bag and then come back here. We will need to find a way to filter the air supply to the room."

"Okay!" Kiden springs out of her chair, looking excited, then she pauses. "I can get us some weapons too. Guns."

Laura nods slightly, although she does not intend to bother with obtaining a firearm. Not when she houses six deadly-sharp blades in her limbs. She heads out of the room into the hallway, the empty duffle bag slung across her shoulders. She pushes past several students who are huddled in the common room—watching the news—and ignores when one calls out to her. Her eyes are set on the doors.

_Secure yourself, then call home, _she orders herself sternly. The doors swing out of her way and she runs down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She heads for the pharmacy, which is located about a mile off campus in the 'village', as it is called.

What disturbs her about this virus is not so much its symptoms, nor the fact that it is nearby. She can survive anything. She was _made_ to survive anything. And her family will be fine too, if they follow her instructions—even if the virus never reaches California.

No, what disturbs her is not so much the virus itself as where it has come from. _Denver. _Even the city's name sends shivers up and down her spine. Instinct tells her that this virus is why the Facility has not sought her out. They've been too busy to bother with recovering her.

She passes the Campus coffeehouse and is so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice her name being called, or the footsteps approaching her at a running pace. She reaches the school flags by the time her pursuer catches up and grabs her wrist. "Hey, I've been—"

Laura snaps out of her distracted state and whirls around, forcing her hand free. "Don't touch me," she says, her voice quiet but full of warning.

It's Julian Keller, of course it's him. It's _always _him. Her eyes narrow. "Don't _ever_ touch me!" she shouts.

"Look," he says, raising his hands. "Not touching. I wanted to—"

"Now is _not_ the time," she says fiercely. "I don't want to talk to you again, ever, but especially not _now_."

"I know, I saw the news," he says. "I just wanted to make sure that—"

"The virus is not here yet," Laura replies. "Your concern is wasted. I have other matters to attend to." She turns away and resumes her march toward the pharmacy, her hair flying with the light breeze of her motion. The sun is setting, and she wants to return to the dorm before dark.

"_Yet?_" he calls after her. "_Yet?_ Laura…wait a minute!"

She hears him jogging to catch up, and she sighs. "Yes," she says, over her shoulder. "Denver is a nineteen hour drive away. Seeing as the virus must have a short incubation period to have affected twenty-five thousand people overnight…we have about ten hours before it arrives here in California."

"What—are you serious?" Julian asks, his forehead wrinkling.

"Of course." Laura glances at him, hesitates. She hates him, but does her hatred extend to withholding information that could save his life? "I am obtaining supplies now…enough for a week at least…and then my roommate and I are sealing ourselves in our dormitory and filtering the air. You should do the same."

He stares at her. "Maybe I wasn't so far off with calling you crazy," he says.

Laura's gaze cools. "Do as you will. It does not concern me." She straightens again and picks up her pace, ever onward toward the pharmacy. He shakes his head and jogs after her again. "Wait—I didn't mean that. Look…" he reaches out and grabs her shoulder. She swings around and punches him in the jaw; his head snaps back and he shouts out a curseword, grits his teeth.

She stops, watches him hunch over as he rubs the area she has struck, and for a moment she feels uncertain. Did she hit him too hard? She hadn't meant to break his bones. Then he spits out blood and glares at her as he straightens, but surprisingly he doesn't mention the punch—even though his lip is swelling up where she split it. "I was going to say…you guys shouldn't sit it out in the dorm. If it's really coming here…then you should find a house."

Laura pauses. "Yes. You're right."

"Like mine," he says. "I have a one-bedroom on Cornstock Avenue. Near the park."

She thinks for a moment, her eyes narrowing. She doubts that Julian believes a word she has said. His purposes for the invitation are far more selfish. But a house _would_ be much safer than the dorms. And if the virus is indeed of Facility origin…she has a feeling that they have not yet had a glimpse of its full deadliness. Its true nature.

Slowly she nods. "You will need to bring your own supplies."

"Anything," Julian says, breaking into a grin. He obviously hadn't expected her to agree, and probably thinks that this has some deeper meaning. She rolls her eyes slightly and resumes the march toward the pharmacy—and sees that it is already quite full of people who seem to share her concerns and suspicions. She sighs.

"We could try the one on Bellagio," Julian suggests. "It's bigger."

"It is too far to walk. We should be at your house by dark." Laura frowns. "Do you have a car nearby?"

"Of course," he grins, and then sobers. "You'll have to drive it, though—"

"Yes, yes, that's fine."

They turn and head back the way they had come. Laura retrieves her cell phone from her pocket and calls Kiden to inform her of the change in plan—who agrees to it almost immediately and suggests a meeting place before hanging up on her— and then she calls Debbie. She catches her breath when Kira answers the phone.

"_Hello?_"

Laura clutches her cell tighter. "Hi, Kira," she says, her voice softer. "Can you put your mother on?"

**…**

Julian clears his throat, and she sees that they have reached what is apparently his vehicle—a glossy red BMW convertible. Laura says a quick goodbye to Debbie, then ends the call and holds her hand out to him expectantly.

"Oh, right." He digs in his coat pocket and hands her the keys. "Well?"

"Well what?" Laura asks as she snatches them from his grasp.

He raises his eyebrows. "You really aren't impressed?"

She opens the driver's door. "By what?"

Julian opens the passenger door and gets in as well. "By the fact that I drive a bimmer."

"Half the students on this campus drive luxury cars," she replies coolly. "It is hardly remarkable."

He scowls, slams his door. "I'm rich, you know."

"Again…hardly remarkable." Laura looks down and sees that the car is an automatic, and rolls her eyes. "I am embarrassed for you, though. What a waste of a good engine."

"Hey!" he snaps, glaring at her. "Manuals are stupid."

"No, _you_ are stupid." She inserts the key into the ignition and revs the engine. "Buckle up."

**…**

"Why are we stopping?!" Julian—who has been complaining about her excessive speed for the last five minutes—demands in a breathless gasp.

"To pick up my roommate." Laura waves to Kiden, who has been waiting on the street corner. She jogs toward her, grinning…but it quickly fades. "What—_him?_"

Julian takes one look at Kiden and shakes his head. "No way. She's not invited."

"Shut up," Laura says, motioning for her roommate to get into the empty back seat. "Did you obtain any supplies yet?"

Kiden vaults into the car—_"Hey!" _Julian yells in protest—and leans forward to stick her face between the front seats. "Not really. I did bust into Circuit City though, and look—" she roots around in her bag, then holds out an iphone. "Cool, huh? Gonna jailbreak it."

"_Kiden!" _Laura scolds. "No looting."

Julian has gone pale. "What, you _robbed _a—"

"Shut up," Kiden says to him, grinning. "Just drive, Laura. No one's gonna care about a little looting in the middle of the zombie apocalypse."

"Get the _hell_ out of my car!" he snaps.

"_Your _car? Really?" She wrinkles her nose. "How come Laura's driving it, huh? Doesn't that make it…her car?"

Julian seems to puff up, but Laura holds up one hand, the other pulling the wheel to the side as she hits the gas. The car squeals to life again and they zip down the street. He never retorts because he's too obsessed with the fact that Laura is going almost ninety in a forty-five zone. Thankfully, though, they don't run into any police officers, and before he can scrape up the balls to argue she is pulling his BMW into the Walgreens parking lot. Which is _full _of cars, too.

"Every nut here's going to go for the bread and milk," Kiden says, her nose wrinkled as she grins. "Had an aunt out in Iowa's tornado belt…apparently the staples are what everyone stocks up on. But not us. We've got—"

"More nuts than most," Julian grumbles. "You can't _seriously_ think this is a zombie apocalypse."

"Hey!" Kiden says, sounding insulted.

"Enough," Laura orders. "Get your bags. We're wasting time."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

"Cozy?" Julian asks, about two hours later.

He gazes down at the two girls sitting in his small living room and feels like pinching himself, because one of them is _Laura, _the girl he was a hundred percent certain would never talk to him again in this life or the next. Or the one after that.

And as he thinks this, he remembers her words. _I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on earth_. He swallows and looks down. Is that theory going to be tested?

_Don't be ridiculous._

"Not bad," Kiden says. "Wish you would let us board up the doors, though. I'd sleep like a baby then."

"I gave you the fireplace poker," he says, unable to help the irritation in his voice. "And seriously—you think boarding the doors would keep out _zombies _if they were real?"

"At least let me push some furniture up against it," Kiden argues.

"That would mean I was trapped in here with you…so no." Julian looks at Laura again, and swallows. _I have a second chance, _he thinks. _Or a third. Whatever. I can't blow this one. _"You guys want something to drink? Music?"

"Music attracts zombies!" Kiden protests.

"For the love of _god_, Kiden, there _are_ _**NO. FUCKING. ZOMBIES.**_" Julian covers his eyes with the back of his arm. "Seriously…Laura…can you talk some sense into the Walking Dead fangirl here? Is that even remotely _possible?"_

Laura feels uneasy. The idea that the Facility may be involved with the situation keeps occurring to her…the terrible thought that there is more to this virus than just illness and death. She sighs. She needs some time to dissect this fear. Why does it keep plaguing her? What evidence does she have that the Facility would create anything more than a biological weapon?

_Because they made me, _she thinks, then shakes her head. "Kiden…your fear of reanimated corpses is irrational. You should watch less television."

"Hey, TV," Julian says, in a voice of relief. "That's a great idea. Instead of thinking up ways to destroy my house…" he grabs the remote off his oak bookcase and turns his 60" plasma TV on.

"Yes," Laura agrees. "We should watch the news."

"Fuck the news," Julian says. "Just gives zombie-girl here more material to work with. Let's watch, like, a sitcom or something…lighten the mood…" he pauses. "Or I have lots of movies." He gestures to his DVD rack. "Pick your poison. Or hey—either of you guys like video games?"

"Maybe we should play a zombie game," Kiden suggests. "It'd be good practice."

"Right." Julian flips over to the local news channel, and to his relief it's on a commercial break. "See? They wouldn't be playing the stupid Mr. Clean ad if it was the _apocalypse. _Seriously. So how about those drinks, huh?"

"Well, I guess I wouldn't mind a beer if you've got some," Kiden says. "Might be the last night we can kick up our heels, if you know what I mean."

"Laura?" Julian asks.

She hesitates. "Just one beer, please," she says. He restrains himself from a fist-pump until he gets into his kitchen. If he can get her even tipsy…then maybe she'll at least _talk _to him. He fetches three beers and a bottle opener, then returns to his living room. He looks at Laura—seated alone on the black leather loveseat—and Kiden, on the matching couch—and sighs. Of course. He distributes the drinks and sits down, leans back and stares at the TV. The news has just come on…and the scrolling headline makes his skin crawl. _Epidemic confirmed to spread to Arizona, Utah, Kansas, Texas—_

"How fast is it _moving?_" he asks, in wonder, as he looks away. He doesn't want to see _California _come up on that list.

"Faster than I estimated," Laura says, her voice even lower than usual. She frowns. "They said the death toll has risen to one and a half million."

"But—" Julian pales. "That's impossible. It was two hundred thousand just three hours ago."

She closes her eyes and says nothing.

"The CDC's working on it, right?" he presses. "Do they have _any_ leads yet? Like…what it is? How to cure it?"

"_Cure _it?" Kiden snorts. "Puhl-ease. They can't even cure the common cold…and you expect them to cure the zombie plague?"

"Will you _stop _it with the zombie stuff already?" he says. "I'm already creeped the fuck out as it is. I don't want to think about all these…dead people…getting up again." He pauses, and thinks briefly of his parents—his brother—up in their Hollywood mansion. Or are they somewhere international? They haven't even called to make sure he's okay. He grits his teeth. "Let's just wait it out. Maybe we'll be okay…long as we stay put for a while."

"Maybe we should get more food," Kiden says, worried.

Laura shakes her head. "It's too late. The virus may already have arrived here. We don't know how long the symptoms take to manifest." She looks at Julian. "We will simply need to ration carefully. If the plague moves so quickly—"

"Plague?" he interrupts, his eyes wide. "This is really a _plague? _You mean—"

"Yes." Her eyebrows arch. "If it moves so quickly…that means it cannot survive for long without a host. Which means the city should be clear of disease within a few days."

Julian feels a thrill of fear. Her calm, logical approach to such a horrible idea has made this so _real_. Seeing dead people on TV is one thing…but hearing her say 'clear of disease' and knowing she means that devastation will be coming _here…_he swallows, and looks at the TV. They are showing pictures of the dead again, a panning shot of a row of bodies laid on a floor. He wonders how the camera man isn't already one of them, and then it occurs to him that he very well may be.

"Look…can we do something else for a bit?" he asks. "I'm getting really freaked out and I don't think my panicking is going to do us any favors."

"No, it would not," Laura says. She thinks for a moment. "Perhaps we _should_ fortify the doors. Once the city is clear…there will probably be a lot of burglaries…looting..."

"Sounds great," Julian mumbles. "We can move the chair you're in, Laura…against the back door…and, uh, how about the kitchen bookshelf against the front door?"

"I'm all for that," Kiden says. "Laura?"

"Yes." She gets to her feet, and they set to work. Julian pats himself on the back for having come up with such a neat way to get rid of her solo seating option. He then checks his fridge and sees that it's well stocked, seeing as he'd gone shopping just the other day—the morning before he lost his license, in fact. He pats himself on the back for that wise action too, and for the fact that he'd remembered to buy two other important staples: toilet paper and condoms. _Just in case we have to repopulate the earth or something, _he thinks, sneaking a glance at Laura, who is applying makeshift barricades to the windows—and then rethinks that statement with a puzzled frown.

"That should do it," Kiden remarks. "Now what?"

"Perhaps we should try to sleep while we can," Laura says softly.

Julian looks at her, and wonders if there's any way he can possibly convince her to sleep with him. Probably not. Unless…he glances at Kiden, and winces at the thought of that gross dyke in his bed. Would it be worth it to sleep beside Laura, the equivalent of an angel? He nods slightly to himself. "I have a king-sized bed," he says. "You girls are welcome to join me."

Laura turns a cold gaze on him. "I will sleep down here."

"Me too," Kiden says. "Who _knows _what kind of venereal diseases you're carrying, Keller!"

He can't help sounding exasperated—he really can't. "Oh come _on,_" he says. "Really—out of all of us present—_I'm _going to be the one with some weird disease." He stares pointedly at Kiden. "I'd be more worried about you causing a flea infestation. But I'm still inviting you. You said it yourself, Laura…we might not get quality rest later." He gives her as neutral a look as he can manage.

Laura thinks about this. "Okay. But you sleep down here, on the couch."

"How about _hell no,_" he says. "There's a _fucking plague _going on. I'm scared out of my wits. I'm not sleeping downstairs alone right now."

"He's got a point," Kiden admits. "How 'bout he's in the room with us, but on the floor?"

"It's _my _bed," Julian argues. "I sleep in it. Like I said, whoever wants on it is welcome to join me…and no, I don't have some diabolical schemes. Just sleep. Clothes on."

Laura sighs. "Okay," she says, and he feels almost dizzy. "It's upstairs. Come on." He turns and heads up the stairs. After a few moments the girls follow, turning the lights off behind them.

**…**

At about two AM, Julian wakes up to the sound of the wind bumping tree branches against the window. He shrinks into himself, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks out into the darkness and wonders if death is being carried on that wind. He starts to think of zombies, despite his earlier words to Kiden that it's a ridiculous idea. Swallowing, he wraps his arm tighter around the figure beside him—and freezes. Who is he holding? Is it Kiden…or Laura? If it's Kiden, he'd be apt to push her off the bed and burn his arm. But if it's Laura….it would be a dream come true.

He thinks, hard, about who was where when he fell asleep, but for some reason he can't remember. Then he takes a deep breath—and smells a sweet, gentle, flowery fragrance—and he relaxes. He'd know her scent anywhere. It's definitely Laura. He presses his face gently against her bare neck and sighs. _I wouldn't want you if you were the last man on earth_, Laura's voice whispers, from his memory.

_You'll change your mind, _he promises himself. _You'll see. _

The real Laura sleeps on, and eventually he drifts off again himself, his body now pressed against her behind. Even though the world might be ending outside his house, he's quite happy inside it.

**…**

"Julian, let go of me!"

He wakes up to a rough shove against his shoulders. Opening his eyes, he sees that Laura is glaring down at him as if he has just offended her. He gives her a sleepy smile. "Morning to you too," he says, his voice thick.

"Damn…you guys should see the news!" Kiden calls, from downstairs. "Death toll is up to _eight million _now…and there's more. I was right!"

Julian feels his heart sinking. What had seemed to be shaping up to a great morning is quickly turning into the worst one of his life. "Laura, come here," he whispers.

"No, I am going downstairs." She turns away from him.

"Please," he says. "I want to—I want to apologize to you. For being a dick."

Laura stops, her head tilting slightly. He takes that as a sign that she's listening, so he continues. "What I did just before Spring Break…I thought about it all week. It was a knee-jerk reaction because…" he looks down. "You _really_ hurt me with what you said."

"I am—" she begins.

"No, it's not like I haven't given you cause." He stands up from the bed, takes a step toward her. "I'm not used to people like you. People who are real…and blunt…and who don't play games."

Laura looks at him. "You said we play games."

"I didn't mean…_games. _I meant that we challenge each other." He hesitates. "But I guess none of that matters if you don't…you know. Feel the same."

She lowers her gaze. "I am sorry, but…I do not find you appealing."

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. "Okay. Just tell me…is there anything I could _do _to help it?"

Laura shakes her head gently.

He sighs. "Okay." He hesitates. "Can we be friends, at least?"

She also hesitates, and eyes him. "Perhaps. If I can learn to trust you."

"Fair enough." He offers her his hand, and after a moment she takes it and gives it a quick pump of a handshake. "Allies," she says softly, with a hint of a smile.

"Allies," he confirms.

**…**

It's much later in the afternoon, and Julian watches the scrolling headline on his TV set. His mouth is as dry as if he's eaten a ball of cotton.

_California struck—estimated eight million dead, sixteen million infected_

Kiden sits up, her eyes round as saucers. "Seriously? There's only thirty-three million people in this state to begin with. That's…almost seventy-three percent of the state population in _four hours._"

They are silent for a few moments.

"I was right," Laura says, her expression dark. "The virus is _mutating _from whatever the original strain was. It's becoming more and more adept. The incubation period has gone from a probable 24-hour period to about three and a half hours in the span of one day."

Julian swallows, rubs his face with his hands. "Do you think it's hit LA yet?" he asks finally, his voice seeming to echo in his ears. Last night, it had all seemed so far away. He'd thought everyone was getting worked up about nothing. The whole idea of holing up in his house for a week had seemed like a game he was playing to humor Laura, and that he'd be back in his boring-ass Environmental Policies and Comparing the European Union lectures on Tuesday, since he didn't have a Monday class. He'd thought he'd be picking up his license right about now.

But somehow he doubts the DMV is open today, judging from the images of LA that are now being plastered across his screen. Not only is most of the city down with the virus…but in the absence of the regular population, chaos has set in. Broken windows…fires…riots…looting…

"It's really here," he says in wonder.

"Yes." Laura glances at her phone, on the end table. "I will try my family again later. You should both do the same…maybe say goodbye, just in case."

"Oh my god." He shudders. What if his parents are already dead, and that's why they haven't called? Because they _can't? _He gets to his feet and heads into the kitchen, not sure what he's trying to do. He settles for leaning against a wall and staring at his fridge.

"Are you alright?" Laura asks, touching his shoulder from behind.

He looks at her. "Do you think we're going to die?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "No. We are prepared." She pauses. "However…it may be a good idea to double-check the house's ventilation. If we filter the air…it may not be necessary, but…"

"I have an air purifier in my closet."

"Good." She smiles slightly. "Perhaps we should have lunch. Can you make it?"

"Yeah." He pauses, shakes his head and blinks a few times. "I bread in the fridge…cheese…some cold cuts. Sandwiches?"

"Okay. One each." She pauses. "Julian…if your parents are careful…they will be fine. I am confident that my family will survive."

"Yeah, well, you don't know mine," he says. "My father…my brother…they're…" he hesitates and closes his eyes. "You told me I was arrogant. Well, if that's true...where do you think I got it?"

She gazes at him, with something akin to sympathy. "But you are also intelligent," she says.

"You didn't say that," he points out.

"You listened to me," she says. "We are well-prepared for this…epidemic."

Julian doesn't feel like telling her that he didn't believe her. Let Laura think he's a genius. It's the only quality he has going in his favor at the moment. He tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. She squeezes his shoulder gently, then returns to the living room, and after a moment he begins to prepare a meal for them.

**…**

The local news station stops broadcasting around four o' clock. The screen now displays a stationary, standard message from the CDC to '_Remain inside_', and '_Call this number immediately if experiencing any of the following symptoms..._' A 1-800 number is listed.

Many of the channels are like this, or are filled with static. FOX news is still going, as is CNN and the BBC, so they alternate between those for sources of information. There have been several outbreaks in Europe already, even though all ports of entry are now shut down. The virus is spreading more slowly there, probably because it is the pre-mutation strain.

Julian has tried his parents three times, and now he's not getting a phone signal anymore. Laura says it's probably because the network is being overloaded with calls. _People are saying goodbye _is what she means but does not say.

"Did you call Celeste?" Laura asks, at six in the evening.

He realizes—with a start—that he hasn't really thought about Celeste since before Spring Break. He leans his face in his palms, and feels like shit. He'd been so consumed by his incident with Laura in the dining hall that he'd taken off for his vacation without even calling her…and when he'd gotten back, he'd been riding on the fumes of his meaningless Florida hook-up and forgotten that he was in a relationship of sorts. "Oh, god," he says out loud. "The hell is wrong with me?"

"You got some paper?" Kiden asks.

"Shut up." He picks up his phone and looks up Celeste's number in his favorites list. There is a dial tone, and the phone rings, but no one answers it. He feels uneasy. Celeste might not be all that bright, or nice…but he still hopes she's okay. He puts down his cell again and looks at Laura. "Maybe she went to her family," he says hopefully.

"Maybe," Laura says, frowning slightly.

**…**

At nine o' clock they learn—on the BBC—that the worldwide death toll is now estimated at around fifteen million people, eleven million victims in North America and the rest in Europe. At ten o' clock they hear the sounds of massed voices somewhere nearby, raised in a strange murmur. At eleven o' clock they hear a woman screaming her head off in the distance. And at one o' clock—when they are just about to head for bed again—they hear a strange _pop-pop-pop _sound, followed by a loud _BOOM!_

"What the hell was that?" Julian asks, his forehead wrinkled.

"Probably the military," Laura says, moving to the window and peering out down the street. She hesitates for a moment, then leans closer, pressing her fingertips against the glass. "Julian…turn off the lights," she orders in a hushed whisper.

He doesn't question her but does as she asks, then he and Kiden join her on either side and try to determine what she is looking at…but it's too dark. "What are you looking at?" he asks finally.

"There," Laura says.

After a few moments, Julian sees what she is referring to: a pale figure, shuffling slowly down the street.

"What the hell is that?" he asks.

"Zombie," Kiden says.

Laura looks at her uncertainly. Julian feels creeping alarm, because he can see that she is seriously considering her roommate's analysis. "No way," he says.

They watch the figure as it moves closer. The movements are erratic, twitchy and definitely off. He thinks back to the films and games he's played that involved zombies…and he's not really sure if this would fit his description. He can't tell if the figure is dead or alive, to begin with. Only that the person definitely isn't acting normally.

"We should go to sleep," Laura says finally, her voice firm.

"Like I'm going to sleep for a _second_ knowing that thing's out there," he says.

"We don't know if it's aggressive," she says. "The doors and windows are barricaded."

"It's still _there._" He shudders.

"Julian…for now…it's no more harmful than a coyote, or a raccoon." She places her hand on his shoulder. "Come to bed. We need to sleep as much as we can now, in case tomorrow we need to start posting watches."

After a few moments he nods, and they climb into his bed again. It is big enough that they can spread out without touching, but that is the last concern on their minds right now. Julian stares up at his ceiling and wonders if this house that his parents had bought for their children while they attended school will become his tomb.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4  
**

* * *

Laura awakes to bright sunshine streaming through the window, and sits up in the bed. She unwraps Julian's arm from around her waist and wiggles out of the space between him and Kiden, who has slept with her back facing her every night so far. She looks at Julian for a few moments and feels a sense of pity for him. He will probably have a harder time with this situation than either she or Kiden will…and then there's the fact that he's still holding a candle for her, even after all her attempts to dissuade him—both aggressively and gently. Nothing seems to work.

She sighs slightly and heads back to the window, through which she'd seen the figure in the dark last night. Unlike her companions, she has excellent night vision. Not in color…more of a gray scale image…but details are crystal-clear to her in darkness that would blind a normal human. And what she'd seen had disturbed her, very seriously.

The figure had been that of a woman, in about her thirties—perhaps a professor at the University, or part of the campus staff. Laura could not tell the color of her skin, but she could see that it was mottled, and that her eyes did not look right; they were swollen and—upon zooming in—very bloodshot, and coated with mucous. The pupils, very dilated to let in the dim light, darted back and forth in the manner of a predator. The irises were a pale color, probably blue or green. And her gait…she shuffled because her body was held very stiffly, very tightly, as if her muscles were trying to collapse her skeleton. As if she were not used to walking upright.

Her clothes were torn and splattered with a dark substance that Laura suspects was blood, as were her curving fingers. Those were absolutely _saturated._

The street is now empty, except for sunlight and a piece of paper drifting on the wind. She feels that strange uneasiness again, the thought that there is more to this than meets the eye. She is more and more convinced that this is the Facility's doing, that this is somehow related to the experiments that created her.

The Facility was run by the government, she knows that much. The goal was to create a super soldier, an indestructible and ultimately obedient human; the final answer to modern warfare threats from China. She herself had been built to withstand nuclear fallout without additional protection. That had been thoroughly tested. Laura was only twelve years old when she escaped, and much of went on around her made no sense at the time, regardless of how bright she was…but her eidetic memory has allowed her to analyze all she'd seen and heard now, when she can understand it. And that's what she's been doing a lot in these last few days.

Mother was her creator, a geneticist named Dr. Sarah Kinney. She had learned much about mother from Debbie—Sarah's two-year-younger sister. Her aunt had explained that Sarah had left home when she was seventeen to escape their abusive father…and to attend UCLA on scholarship. Four years later, she had graduated with honors and a degree in Microbiology. She had gone on to obtain a doctorate, and then she had left town altogether. That was the last Debbie heard of her for ten years.

Then she had called one day—soon after Megan's birth—and the sisters had reconnected. Debbie learned of Laura, and a little of their circumstances, but never the full story. That Laura can fill in from her memories of her childhood, the earliest beginning at the age of two.

Sarah's job at the Facility was to design a super-soldier…but more than that, an easy to replicate super-soldier. Laura—more than anyone—knows her creation wasn't a simple process. It had taken the Facility a staff of approximately two hundred people and an entire complex to create one of _her. _Yes, she may be nigh invincible, and yes, she may be highly trained in the arts of killing and torture and survival, since that's all she had been taught since she could walk—to the point that she only knew what the sun was from a distant memory of something her mother had whispered into her ear on one of the rare nights she was allowed to visit her before she slept—but mass replication would be utterly impossible.

But a virus…a virus would allow for mass-replication on the scale needed to produce an army. A virus could be modified to target specific areas of the body. Of the brain. _No, they wouldn't be that stupid, _she tells herself firmly.

Laura tilts her head, gazing at the pavement and tensing muscles in her eyes to see it in finer detail. Dark red drops of dried blood. She cranes her neck slightly, looking up the road, following the drops as they become splatters and then pools…she inhales sharply.

Lying on the pavement is a carcass. A large, furry, black carcass. A black bear—quite a sizable one—absolutely gutted, from throat to beneath the belly. Its innards have spilled through the gap, or what's left of them anyways. Strands of intestines…fragments of liver…a smear of green that was probably a gallbladder…a cloud of flies circle this mess lazily. Laura, who is never sickened by anything she sees, who has won the interest of her teachers and lab TA's for her steady hand in dissections and her absolute detachment from corpses…feels mildly nauseated. Her eyebrows draw together.

_Could a cougar have done this? _She wonders, fingering the curtains beside the window. She's heard of cougars—and come to think of it, wolf packs—praying on black bear cubs, and occasionally elderly bears…but not on full-grown, healthy-looking adults. And that's what this animal had been: glossy fur, full size…a beautiful specimen. She is not an expert on wildlife, but she has done some studies on the species found in California for various Biology courses.

Somehow, she doubts that this is the case. Her instincts tell her that it had to do with the figure in the night, the blood-covered humanesque figure. She hears a noise from behind her and tenses, then relaxes; it's her companions, awaking. Julian at least. His heart is beating faster, and now he sits up.

"Laura?" he asks sleepily.

She glances over her shoulder at him, and wonders if she should conceal this discovery from him. She's sensed that he is, in general, growing increasingly close to panicking over the situation...and that's the last thing any of them needs. However…perhaps he _needs_ to panic, to let it out. And then he can move on to contributing to their survival. She realizes—feeling strange—that this is the first time she has felt they might _have_ to fight for that survival, rather than just ride out the waves of the contagion.

"Come here," she instructs.

He does as she says, moving to the window, rubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed hair in an absent way. She steps to the side and points. He looks up the road, and jumps when he sees the body of the bear. His eyes widen dramatically. "What the _fuck,_" he says, his voice quickly losing its sleepy quality.

Laura says nothing, but looks at the bear again, her eyebrows drawn together. His reaction has somehow confirmed that her suspicions are right, perhaps because—unlike her—he has not seen things of this nature before. The scene is decidedly ghastly.

"Was it…" he looks at her. "Was it that thing we saw last night? That _person?_"

"I suspect so." She hesitates. "But I don't think that was a person."

Julian sneers slightly. "So you're agreeing with Crackpot over there now? It was a _zombie?_"

"I don't know." Laura frowns. "Please don't call Kiden that."

He looks out the window again, at the bear. "It can't be zombies. It _can't. _Laura…oh fuck…what if it's zombies? What the fuck are we gonna do? I don't know much about this kind of crap—I mean, I can shoot, Dad used to take us to a range when I was a kid…but _zombies?_"

"Julian," she says, reaching out and laying her hand gently on his shoulder. "Breathe."

He closes his eyes and does as instructed—his first breath after about a minute—through his nose…and she can hear his heart begin to slow. The scent of his adrenaline on the air begins to decline, and he nods slightly. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Laura looks down, thinking of Mother. _Tell her I said you are my daughter and you need her protection. That you will be pursued by very bad people. _

What if she isn't the one that needed Debbie's protection, but rather Debbie who would need her protection because the bad people wouldn't pursue her, in particular? Instead, they would come on as an undefeatable and unfeeling army. She raises her eyes and sees the black bear's rotting carcass again…and pictures Debbie lying like that. Or Megan. Or Kira. Her eyebrows draw together, her mouth dry. "I need to find my family," she says firmly.

"What, are you crazy?" Julian grips her shoulders. "You can't go out there."

She raises her chin. "I have to. I have to protect them."

"You're just a girl, Laura," he says. "I don't mean to be sexist…but who's going to protect _you?_"

Laura says nothing, but her look doesn't waver.

"And the virus," he says. "It's still out there. I can't let you get sick."

"Let me?" She shakes her head. "Julian—you don't control me."

"But you said it yourself. We're allies now…and _I_ think we're going to be friends," he says. "I don't want you to get hurt. I…I care about you." He frowns. "Do you know what I'll feel like if you didn't make it back?"

"Probably the same way I would feel if my cousins end up like that bear." She nods toward the carcass. "I grew up with them. They are like my sisters. I can't let anything happen to them."

"Your aunt raised you?" he asks, surprised. "Your mother didn't—"

"She is dead." Laura frowns at him. "I don't like talking about it…to anyone." She adds the last part because he seems disappointed. It makes her pity him again.

"Look." He squeezes her shoulders. "Call them again. Wait with us. And then…in a couple of days like you said…when the air should be safe…we'll go. All of us, together. We can get all of our families, okay?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Even Kiden's family?"

He nods, his forehead wrinkled. "_Especially_ Kiden's. If anyone needs parental guidance…it's her."

Laura smiles slightly, despite herself. "Okay," she says.

**…**

"See? See? I _told _you! I _told you! __**ZOMBIES!" **_

"Shut _up, _Kiden!" Julian snaps. About a minute ago, they had seen the most incredible report on the epidemic yet: a video clip of the city of Denver, taken from a helicopter. The camera shook violently in the man's hands, and over the sound of the chopper blades, his whispers could be heard. In this situation any attempt at professionalism in the field had been abandoned.

"_Holy mother of God_," he whispered, as he saw—through the camera's lens—what his audience would see. The streets were moving, slowly moving, full of the creatures that Laura, Julian and Kiden had seen through the upstairs window last night. As the camera man panned, his lens focused on what looked like a dog—a retriever of some sort—running down a small side street, barking. The sound was barely audible up in the helicopter, but down on the ground it must have echoed, because suddenly the creatures were not moving slowly. They began to run, first in shuffling, awkward steps…and then some crouched to the ground to leap on all fours.

The dog was torn into small bloody chunks, quickly consumed by the mob of creatures. The camera shook especially hard when a loop of intestine flew into the air. "_Yea..th-though I walk through the valley of the sh-shadow of death, I will fear no—" _the camera man began to pray, but then the helicopter lurched to the side very violently, and the video became scrambled. Before it cut off, a distant shouting voice could be heard: _"HOLY FUCK—IT JUMPED RIGHT ON—" _

And then the screen turned to static. The FOX newscaster returned in a few moments, her face white as a sheet.

"Those are _not_ zombies," Julian argues, as if this is very important. "Those are some kind of—of—well, I don't know what the hell they are, but they certainly aren't your run of the mill _zombie." _

"No," Laura agrees, her eyebrows drawn together. "Those are not zombies, Kiden. They are something far worse."

"Close enough," Kiden says smugly. "So…seeing as I'm this group's zombie apocalypse expert, I think I should be the leader—"

"Jesus, Kiden. I would rather sacrifice myself as bait than have you lead us!" Julian looks to Laura. "If anyone leads…I vote for _her_…seeing as she's the one who was smart enough to make us prepare."

"But—I've been preparing my whole _life!" _Kiden protests. "I even have a weapons cache."

Laura looks at her. "That could be useful. What do you have?"

"Tons," Kiden says. "Stakes…hunting knives…I even managed a few pistols and one automatic rifle…had to be careful, though. I don't have a gun permit."

"You brought this all into my house?!" Julian demands. "God…you're even more insane than I figured!"

"Of course not!" Kiden snaps. "It's back in the dorms. I didn't want to tell anyone until I knew shit was going down."

"Well, _that's _helpful," he retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Only have to cover a half-mile of zombie-infested campus with fuck-all to defend us with to _get_ the weapons."

"Hey!" Kiden protests, then she grins. "Hah—you called them zombies!"

"Kiden…Julian…please, stop it." Laura sighs. "We'll recover the stash in…let's plan for two days. The virus should have passed the campus by then."

"Laura…we can't leave here," Julian protests.

"But what about the plan to recover our families?" she asks.

"That was before I saw one of those things take down a _fucking helicopter,_" he says. "We won't stand a chance against them."

Laura hesitates. "Yes, we will. _I _will."

The others stare at her, and she looks down. "I don't want to explain myself…please don't make me. But I…I heal instantly from any wound…and I have these." She makes fists—and Julian takes a step back as she releases her claws. _**SNIKT!**_

"What the—" he stares at them. "You….what _are _you?"

_**SNAKT! **_as she retracts her claws again. "I told you that I don't want to explain myself. All that's important is that I can defend us."

"It was the government, wasn't it?!" Kiden exclaims.

Laura remains silent.

"Leave her alone," Julian says. "She doesn't want to tell us. Fine. And she's right—all that matters right now is getting through this." He pauses. "I still don't like the idea of you fighting those things, Laura."

"Maybe they are not widespread in LA yet," Laura says. "In that case…we should definitely leave in the two-day timeframe."

"And come back here?" Julian asks. "My little one-bedroom might be great for us…but if we find our families…maybe we should head for my home…my _real _home in Hollywood…the last, and set up camp there. My home is a _mansion…_ten bedrooms…a storage cellar…"

"That sounds good," Laura agrees.

"Fine by me," Kiden says.

"Good." Julian turns and heads into the kitchen, deciding that it's time for them to eat. As he does, he hears a noise, coming from the door. He freezes in his tracks, and focuses on the sound. After a few moments he sees that the cause of this is the doorknob twisting back and forth—and scraping against the bookcase they've pressed up against the door.

"Laura," he mouths.

She is at his side in an instant, her eyes immediately on the door. "Julian…take Kiden upstairs," she whispers.

He shakes his head, and looks around the room for a likely weapon. His eyes settle on the knife block in the corner. Moving toward it, he selects the largest, sharpest one possible. Laura gives him a reproachful look, but he shakes his head. "Not leaving you alone."

"What's up?" Kiden asks, coming to stand behind Laura.

The latter nods to the door.

"Shit," her roommate remarks. "And me with no weapon."

"We've got it covered," Julian says. "Go upstairs."

"And let you two have all the fun?! Fuck _that—_there _must_ be something else I can use." She pauses, digs in her pocket and pulls out a Swiss army knife, then pops the corkscrew attachment out. "There we go. Remember…aim for the brain. Nothing else with stop a zombie."

"For the last freakin' time," Julian whispers. "These are _not _zombies."

"I do not hear a heartbeat," Laura murmurs.

He pauses. "So…"

"I think Kiden might be right. Without a heartbeat…without circulating blood...how could any other kind of wound cause mortal damage?" She looks at Julian. "Aim for the head."

They all wait in tense anticipation. A bead of sweat rolls down Julian's nose. Laura can hear three sets of heartbeats, beating quickly: Julian's, Kiden's and hers. The doorknob continues to wiggle back and forth. And then…she hears a ragged, breathy sound…and slow, dragging footsteps as whatever it is lurches away from the door and back into the street.

All three take a deep breath in relief. No one speaks for about a minute. Then Julian looks at her, frowning. "Wait a minute—you can hear _heartbeats?" _

She closes her eyes and nods. "I have…abilities. One of them is enhanced senses."

He raises his eyebrows. "So…you're like a superhero?" There is doubt in his voice.

Laura smiles, despite herself. "Not quite."

"Can you see through walls?" Kiden asks, a little less doubtfully.

She shakes her head, then pauses. "I can see in the dark though."

Julian takes a deeper breath. "Can you…can you _fly?_" he asks.

Laura turns her eyes to him. Something about his tone is full of desire. She senses that this is a secret wish of his. "I'm sorry…but no." She looks at him. "I do not have super-strength either. But I can protect you from these creatures if you do as I say."

He hesitates, then nods slightly, to indicate that he believes her and will not stand in her way.

"Good." She directs her gaze on the door. "If we plan to stay here any longer…then I think we should reinforce any entrance to the house…including the upstairs window. They can leap very high, as we saw in the news report."

"Crazy," Julian says. "You'd never guess it to look at them."

Laura raises her eyebrow. "Many things are not as they seem."

"Guess so," Kiden remarks. "Here I thought you were just a dumb cheerleader…and you turn out to be a brainy science nerd with super-powers."

"We are all special in our own way." Laura moves into the living room, and they set to reinforcing the entrances.


End file.
